


Challenge

by Philemal



Series: Incubus AU [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Incubus!Keith, Kissing, Lap Dances, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Spanking, i'm back at it again, this is literally 12k words of self indulgent smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 16:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15368814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philemal/pseuds/Philemal
Summary: “I don’t. I have two left feet,” Shiro replies, amusement glimmering on his face – though Keith can see the darkness in those pretty eyes. Keith pouts, a subtle jut of his lower lip. Boo. “I’m sure you can dance, though. You have… the body for it.”Keith grins, the complement going straight to his ego, fueling the flames of his arousal. “I love to dance,” He says, hand returning to Shiro’s thigh. “Would you like a demonstration?” He half-whispers, violet eyes hungry on Shiro.He raises the glass to his lips again – Keith thinks he’s doing it on purpose now. His gaze lingers on the pale column of Keith’s neck, dusky brow vaulted. “What do you mean?” Keith hums, eyes flickering down to the very enticing warmth of Shiro’s lap.





	Challenge

Nightclubs were Keith’s favorite spot to hunt. They ranked fairly high on his list of hot spots – the others being Cafes, bars, and the occasional strip club. Tonight, he’s in a pleasant mood, aided by the sweet taste of liquor. Incubi can’t get drunk, not really, but there’s a faint hum that settles nicely in his belly. The place he’s at tonight is high-class – only the rich and privileged can get in. Or, if you’re an Incubus, you can just bat your eyelashes at the bouncer guarding the entrance and gain access in a flash. Keith grins over the rim of his glass, crystal and sparkling with dark alcohol.

It’s a nice place, regardless of the arrogant and haughty people that inhabit it. Keith is a creature of the night. A moon god. He doesn’t care much for anybody other than his meal, but sometimes humans can get… annoying. Keith’s tail flicks in irritation. The DJ is good, too – being as old as Keith was, he doesn’t have a taste for the newer music, but he can appreciate it when he’s grinding on a warm body. It’s made with the idea in mind.

His eye is currently trained on a gorgeous, _gorgeous_ man – sitting in the back of the club within a circle of friends. His expensive jewelry is clear to Keith’s trained eye. He’s drinking champagne and laughing, undoubtedly celebrating some auspicious occasion. Keith doesn’t really care much. He’s just hungry. And the dude is wearing some suit that clings to him like a second skin – entirely too criminal and hot. So fucking hot. Keith bites his lip, imagining tearing the black fabric to shreds.

His problem is that his meal is across the club and not underneath him. Keith sits at a stool with his back to the bar, elbows propped up against it while he gauges his prey. Let’s just call him… Hottie. Yeah, that sounds good. Keith takes a sip of his whiskey, violet eyes fixed on Hottie. He’s a hulking beast of a man, with a broad frame and a jawline cut from marble – fuck. He has a buzzcut, with a forelock of silvery hair that hangs over his warm eyes. Keith can tell that they’re warm and kind, even from across the room, but he wants to see something else in them. He wants to see fire and heat – darkness and lust. God, he adores muscley men. He adores men in general – but that’s beside the point. He can feel a familiar pang of hunger in his belly, crawling hotly up his chest and twisting hard enough to make his head spin.

Hottie laughs again, tipping his head back in a glorious show of teeth, sharp canines glinting white and pearly underneath the blue strobe lights. Keith imagines them embedded in the meat of his neck. He runs his tongue over his lower lip, feeling a bit frustrated because he’s not in bed with a dick up his ass right this moment. He’s not known for his patience usually, but something about Hottie makes his willpower snap in two. He wants to see Hottie snap in two. Shooting the rest of his whiskey, Keith stands and shoves his itching hands into the pockets of his jacket, never once removing his hungry gaze from Hottie’s smiling face.

Keith himself is wearing a black and red leather coat, along with pants made from the same material – sinfully tight – and a ripped tank top that leaves little to the imagination. His hair is an inky spill that cascades over his shoulders, glinting technicolors under the strobing lights, and to top the look off – he has a choker. The choker was essential. His tail and horns are there, too, but people can’t see them lest he wishes it. He’s graceful like a cat as he hones in on his prey – soon realizing that Hottie is sitting in the V.I.P area, off-limits to everyone else.

Keith never backs down from a challenge, and frankly, he’s seeing this situation as one.

If he wants Hottie, Keith has to work for it, and he’s definitely not opposed to working hard for a nice piece of ass.

The area is walled off with a red velvet rope that looks soft to the touch, Keith muses, but it’s the burly body-guard that causes Keith to suck his teeth in frustration. He gazes from a distance, hidden in the shadows. His gaze flickers to the rope, to the bodyguard – then to Hottie once more.

His game plan goes as follows:

Seduce bouncer.

Get inside.

Seduce Hottie.

It’s a shoot first, ask questions later kind of plans – but it’ll work. At least, that’s what Keith’s hoping for. How is Keith going to get Hottie away from his friends? Keith rolls his tongue behind his teeth in thought, catching the glint of flashing limbs in the corner of his eye – the dancefloor. Keith loves dancing. Maybe Hottie does too? His gaze travels down to very big hands, imagining them around his waist instead, hefting him up and down while his tail curls around a muscled thigh. Keith sucks his teeth, head tilting as he once again checks Hottie out, violet eyes gleaming in the dark.

He notices that Hottie only has one arm. The other is a prosthetic – metal and lustrous. Keith likes it. Maybe a little too much – but hey, at least he doesn’t feel repulsed by it. Keith feels the urge to fan himself with Hottie grins – that sexy, knee-wobbling grin, – and raises a glass of champagne to his lips, skin looking pleasantly flushed. Keith’s stomach flips, and in that moment, he decides not to wait longer.

He needs that man.

When a strobe light flickers over Hottie’s face, Keith spots the glint of a stud earring, shining like a minuscule star amidst the sea of lights. _Jesus Christ._ Keith’s tail flicks back and forth with impatience as he treks towards the bouncer, tongue feeling like lead as he blinks the image of tugging on that earring with his goddamn teeth. That doesn’t seem fair, does it? The bouncer seems to tower over Keith as he approaches, thick bushy brows pulled into a permanent scowl, arms behind his back. He has a pair of dark sunglasses – in a club? – and Keith hums low in his throat, freeing one of his hands to walk a line up the bouncer’s chest.

His fingers pulse with gold, liquid calm fleeing from his tips and sliding onto the Bouncer’s skin. Immediately, he relaxes, and Keith licks his lips, violet eyes focused on the onyx of those sunglasses. “You want to let me in, don’t you?” Keith says, cocking his dark head to the side. There’s a purpose behind his teeth, spilling out in heaps of velvet.

The bouncer tenses up again, clearing his throat and shaking his head. “You got an invitation?” Keith grins, smoothing his palm flat against a broad chest, thick with muscle.

He hums again, slipping out his other hand and sliding them up and down the bouncer’s front, feeling the lust of his gaze, feeling the lechery in his stomach. Keith’s gaze is on the blackness of the bouncer’s shirt, before he looks over at Hottie, jerking his pretty chin towards him. “Ask him. I’m his boyfriend.”

The bouncer laughs. “Really now? And your boyfriend didn’t give you an invitation? Scram.”

Keith raises a brow, an expression the epitome of sheer flirtation – and he slides his hands higher, until they’re pressed flat against the bouncer’s pectorals,  and licks his lips. “Trust me. He’ll want to see me,” Keith answers, voice husky over the pounding music of the club. “You should try. If he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll take you out in the back for a good time,” He says, plum hues glowing.

The bouncer frowns deeply, shoulders slumping, eyeing the hands on his skin underneath his glasses. After a long moment of Keith simply stroking, the bouncer grunts and shoves him away, slinking behind the rope to confer with Hottie. Keith grins, hands back in his pocket as he stares straight at Hottie.

The bouncer leans close into his ear, whispering and pointing to Keith – Hottie raises a thick brow, brown eyes flickering over to Keith. Keith cocks his head to the side, smirking and raising one of his hands in a flirtatious wave of the fingers.

 _I’m his boyfriend_ , Keith had said. Hottie looks wary for a moment, brows pinched together, before raising his metal hand and waving Keith in. Success. Keith’s heart sings as he disregards the rope entirely, slinking underneath it with the fluidity of a lethal snake, trotting over to his meal with a jump in his steps. With every inch of distance lessened between them, Keith feels a spark begin to flare in his gut, warm and rich. Hottie’s brown eyes are on Keith the entire time, and a pleasant shiver wracks his spine at the attention, after having fought so hard to get it.

Distantly, he thinks that Hottie’s friends are looking at him too, but he can only focus on Hottie, singling him out in the vastness of the lights. He has the most gorgeous chocolate eyes – like hot cocoa, Keith thinks. Somehow, he thinks that Hottie would be sweet, and warm, and fit in Keith’s mouth just right, too.

When the distance is finally closed, Keith stands in front of Hottie, a smirk on his pink lips – and fuck. Hottie does this thing with his eyes, raking them over the expanse of Keith’s body. His tail lashes excitedly. Up close, Hottie is even more handsome, with a scar painting his lovely face in a tapestry of forgotten memories – and full lips that makes something ache between Keith’s thighs. “Hi,” Keith says, hip cocked. Hottie leans back, taking a long, long sip of his champagne, brown eyes twinkling.

“Sit,” He offers. His voice is rumbly and smooth, settling in Keith’s aural nerve nicely – like a bowstring drawn over a cello, a melodious sound that Keith can fantasize about for hours. So, Keith does sit, offering only a whisper of distance between their legs, violet eyes trained intensely on Hottie’s. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Keith licks his lips. Hottie’s eyes track the movement. “I’m whatever you want me to be. The name’s Keith.” He says, offering not his hand, but another tilt of his head, exposing the pale column of his neck. He can feel Hottie’s gaze on his jugular, intense and heady. It makes Keith’s heart pound underneath his ribs.

“Hello Keith,” He replies, metal arm propping itself on the back of the couch – around Keith. Keith’s tail shakes when Hottie shifts, pointing his body towards Keith and pinning him to the couch. _Yes_. “I’m Shiro,” He says, sipping on his champagne. Keith eyes the movement of Shiro’s Adam’s Apple, greedily drinking in the exposed flesh of his throat over the high neck of his suit. “You caught my attention.”

Keith grins, eyes twinkling. He looks back up, trapped in chocolate hues. “That was the intent.” He answers, toes curling in his shoes. He wants to get this over with already – he wants Shiro underneath him. He wants to ride Shiro until he sees his fucking brain from how far his eyes roll back – until the bed snaps in two. Shiro’s fucking ripped, too. Keith’s gaze rakes over his body, spotting the faint definition of abs through his tight button-down. Keith wants to lick him all over.

Something dark and untamed flashes in Shiro’s eyes, and Keith’s dick screams in his pants. “Are you a gift from someone? Allura?” He asks.

Keith hums, “I’m a gift, alright. Just not the kind you’re thinking of,” He answers, sitting up straight to shrug off his jacket. He makes a show of it, curving his spine, reveling in the gentle breath Shiro takes. Keith stretches out his tone arms, laying his jacket over his lap. “Sorry,” Keith says, smirking. “Hope you don’t mind. It was getting hot.”

A lie.

Shiro shakes his head, silver hair glinting. “Not at all,” He says, a grin on his lips. Keith can see it all now. He can see Shiro’s hand in Keith’s hair, pulling and tugging and brushing by his horns. He can practically hear the rich dulcet tones of Shiro’s voice, the deep groans that would part those pretty lips, the utterance of pure filth that would make Keith’s arousal flare like a gunshot. Keith releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, pulled back to earth when Shiro tilts his head. “Anything I want?” He presses.

Keith’s toes curl. “Yeah,” he leans back, hair near the metal of Shiro’s arm. He watches Keith with a hint of wariness – but heated all the same. “You got any limits?” Keith asks, one of his hands moving to touch Shiro’s thigh – and yeah. Shiro takes a small breath, eyes flickering to Keith’s palm. The touch alone is electric, sending shivers down his spine, and Keith has to stifle a moan from the surge of heat in his belly.

Shiro is so fucking warm.

Shiro’s metallic fingers are still, despite itching to be buried in Keith’s hair. “Very few,” He answers, taking another long sip. God. Keith wants to suck him. Eat him. Fuck him until he’s screaming. “I like ‘sir’.”

Keith raises a brow, despite the shiver up his spine. Somehow, ‘sir’ fits Shiro very well. Too well. He can imagine being bent over Shiro’s lap, metallic hand raising and falling on the bruised flesh of Keith’s ass, over and over, coaxing moans and screams. Keith wants to tell Shiro that. Instead, Keith says: “Sir, huh?” He tries, reveling in the way Shiro’s eyes flash. “How about… Daddy?”

His hand strokes up and down Shiro’s thigh, thankful that he’s not being pushed away. Shiro chuckles, looking somewhere else with a faint sense of embarrassment. “A bit on the fence about that one.” Somehow, Shiro’s smile is entirely too pure for this conversation.

_Well, I do need something to call you while I’m sucking the soul out of your dick._

Keith only hums, getting lost in the sensation of his hand rubbing against the fabric of Shiro’s dress pants. He wishes he could get his hands on Shiro – in a more sexual way. He feels like he might explode if Shiro’s body isn’t under his palms in the next ten minutes. He bites his lip hard, watching Shiro take another sip, mulling over an empty glass now. “Do you want any?” Keith’s eyes dart from Shiro’s chest to his eyes. He curls further into the couch, spreading his legs slightly to portray that yes, Keith does want to fuck him. Hard. Ride him like a fucking horse.

God. Shiro has to be hung, right?

Keith’s on the verge of tipping his head back in frustration and screaming to the heavens – and not in a good way. He can feel Shiro’s lest in steady, pulsing waves. It’s swallowing Keith whole, licking behind his ears, smoothing and flaring between his ribs. He is happy to know that Shiro wants him – but if Shiro doesn’t get it under wraps, Keith might end up fucking him right there on the couch. With everyone watching.

That sounds good, too.

Keith stares at him for a long minute, before realizing he’s even staring, caught up in the heat of Shiro’s gaze. He shakes his head no. “You sure?” Shiro asks, with a grin. “This is some nice stuff.”

Keith debates it. “I’ll take some,” Shiro reaches for a second glass, and Keith catches his wrist, eyes still locked on Shiro’s face. “From your mouth.”

Shiro’s lust explodes in a dazzling explosion of heat. Keith barely stifles the mewl that threatens to part his lips. Then, Shiro releases a slightly shy laugh – but he only pours one glass. Keith licks his lips. He watches Shiro swallow another gulp, bigger than the last. “Do you dance, Shiro?” Keith asks, because yes – he still needs to follow his plan.

Shiro laughs again – the sound is luscious, akin to audible sex in Keith’s ears. “I don’t. I have two left feet,” Shiro replies, amusement glimmering on his face – though Keith can see the darkness in those pretty eyes. Keith pouts, a subtle jut of his lower lip. Boo. “I’m sure you can dance, though. You have… the _body_ for it.”

Keith grins, the complement going straight to his ego, fueling the flames of his arousal. “I love to dance,” He says, hand returning to Shiro’s thigh. “Would you like a demonstration?” He half-whispers, violet eyes hungry on Shiro.

He raises the glass to his lips again – Keith thinks he’s doing it on purpose now. His gaze lingers on the pale column of Keith’s neck, dusky brow vaulted. “What do you mean?” Keith hums, eyes flickering down to the very enticing warmth of Shiro’s lap.

“I mean,” Keith begins, smooth as silk. His other hand slides up Shiro’s metallic arm, back and forth, feeling the faint warmth and pulse of machinery. “That I can give you a lap-dance. I can assure you that you’ll enjoy it,” His voice is dark, suggestive, full of promises – rich and deep like black tinted ink.

Shiro considers it. Then, he runs his pink tongue over his lips. Keith’s horns throb. “A lap dance and a promotion, hm?” He hums, leaning forward. Keith’s breath hitches in his throat as Shiro’s bulky frame nearly pins him against the couch – but Shiro is reaching over, filling Keith’s senses with sex and heat. Keith almost moans, tail curling around itself as a song of arousal pulses through his entire body.

Shiro sets his glass on the table behind Keith, hesitating before settling comfortably where he was. It was entirely unnecessary. Keith stares at him with narrowed violet eyes, examining the smug grin on his face. Then, he looks to the table in front of them, where Shiro would’ve had far less trouble – but no. He wanted to make sure Keith knew what that Greek body could do. Somehow, Keith finds the idea entirely too hot. “Go for it, Keith,” Shiro says, leaning back and offering his lap.

Keith shudders.

It’s a full body thing, entirely unnecessary – much like the way Shiro practically pinned him – but he can’t help it. _Sir_. Keith takes a deep breath, feeling the rooted, innate desire for Shiro to moan his name, beg for it, grip at Keith’s hips while he’s fucking the lights out of him. Keith licks his lips for the hundredth time that night, sliding to his knees with practiced grace – a finesse Shiro undoubtedly finds very attractive – and places his legs on either side of Shiro’s broad waist. He settles downwards, hands making a home on Shiro’s warm shoulders. Keith can feel his heart in his throat, his excitement in his veins, his lust between his legs.

 _How’s it feel with me in your lap?_ Keith wants to say. Instead, his hands go to the sides of Shiro’s neck, tilting his sinful head upwards. He looks smug, brown eyes dark and heavy, glowing under the strobe lights – and Keith’s breathing begins to stutter as he starts to _move_. Smooth, fluid circles in the heat of Shiro’s lap, over and over, his body creating a sinuous curve. He follows the beat of the song playing – it sounds distant to Keith. He can only focus on the sound of Shiro’s breath.

Shiro’s hands stay far away from Keith’s waist. Keith takes it as another challenge: how can he get those hands on him? He tilts his head to the side, violet eyes narrowing with a brutal scrutiny, black hair dropping off shoulder as he breathes – heavy through pink lips. Shiro’s gaze rakes over Keith’s body, and his ego inflates, much like the ache between his legs, warm and hard and desperate. He leans back, body in tune with the rhythm of his desire, hands all over Shiro’s chest, dropping to the tasty looking tones of his abdomen. His black nails glint like knives in the dark – a whisper of what’s to come, a sigh on the soft exhale from Shiro’s mouth. Keith’s excitement increases tenfold when those fucking hands come to Keith’s knees, because _finally_.

Finally, Shiro is touching him, and the thought alone almost makes Keith sob with relief. His hunger begins to slow down, but his arousal exceeds the limit, causing him to portray everything he wants with the slow, sensual grind of his hips. Shiro’s hands slide up Keith’s thighs, wrapping tight around his grinding muscles, thumb smoothing pleasant shivers into his skin. Keith flutters his lashes, as gentle as a butterfly’s wings, and simply gazes at Shiro, hands on his twitching abdomen. “How’s that feel?” He breathes, skin set ablaze.

Shiro releases a strained sigh, harboring the expression of sheer want. Brows brought together, lips parted, cheeks flushed and looking sweet to the tongue. Keith shudders again, and he knows Shiro can feel it. “Good,” He answers. Fuck. Keith bites his lip hard, head tipping back to center, one of his hands gripping tight to Shiro’s shoulder. Keith almost groans in ecstasy, as if he’s already being filled to the brim – because Shiro’s libido tastes so fucking good. It lingers in the back of his throat like caramel, sticky and sweet – and he smells even better. Like expensive cologne and hair-gel – something musky and deep and all Keith wants to do is commit it to memory. His lips part in a soft, gentle sigh, and he tips his head back, exposing the expanse of his neck.

He shuts his eyes, breathing towards the ceiling, and angles his hips downward – grinding in a blinding spark of friction that even makes Shiro gasp, his hands warm and anchored on Keith’s ludicrous thighs. “Fuck. Yeah, that’s good,” His voice is strained, rumbling and oh so pleasant on the ears.

Keith wants to scream. He’s torn between frustration and enjoyment – climax and the teasing whisper of sex. Instead, his head falls back down, violet eyes filled with a fierce amusement – a flame that’s been ignited, and nothing will quench it besides the feeling of Shiro’s dick inside of him. “Yeah?” He breaths, voice husky. “ _Sir_?”

Shiro’s knuckles go white, digging delicious bruises into Keith’s legs. “Holy shit,” He breathes. Something tells Keith he’s never had something so… intense, before. All Keith is doing is grinding on Shiro’s lap. It’s innocent. Nothing amiss here – except the fact that Keith is probably projecting his lust outwardly, and the effect of it is probably amazing on Shiro’s aching need. “You’re… you’re something else.”

Keith’s hand moves from Shiro’s shoulder to the back of his neck, cupping it, feeling the soft hairs on the back of his head. The other one flees from his abdomen, fingers tracing the tantalizing lines of his lips instead, feeling pink flesh. Keith hums low in his throat: back and forth, fabric rustling together. He memorizes every plump curve of Shiro’s mouth, violet eyes focused on the glistening wetness of his tongue – of the glinting whiteness of his teeth. “Some people call me sex demon,” Keith says, tail flicking. “Wanna find out why?” He looks up to Shiro’s eyes, hand moving to the crux of his chest, feeling the warmth – feeling the race of his heartbeat.

Shiro’s hands travel north, sliding over the slow movement of Keith’s legs, and grips at his narrow hips, licking his lips – tasting the salty remains of flesh. Keith shudders. “You seem harmless enough. I think I’ll take my chances,” Shiro says, brown eyes flickering. Challenging.

Keith doesn’t back down from a challenge.

He smiles, and it’s all teeth, enamel glinting dangerously. Shiro seems too innocent for his own good. “Oh, _baby_ ,” Keith whispers, deep violets on brown. “Careful what you wish for.” He warns, tongue clicking on the roof his mouth. Shiro laughs – Keith can feel the rumbling of it under his palm. _Fuck_. That’s hot. Keith shakes his hips teasingly, anchored by two heavy, warm weights on his sides, watching carefully for Shiro’s reaction. His pupils dilate, and his fingers curl tighter into Keith’s barely covered flesh, itching to slide under that damned tank top and tug at his nipples.

Keith’s body sings with approval when Shiro’s hands are on him. It feels right – he feels whole and fulfilled, and he’d rather die than be anywhere else than right here – perched on Shiro’s lap. He eyes Keith like he’s the meal and not the other way around. Somehow, that makes Keith’s head spin, and his heart swells painfully in his chest, tight and wrought with the iron of his eroticism. “Do _you_ have any limits?” Shiro asks.

Keith can’t help but laugh, tilting his head back and curving his spine, leaning far enough for half his torso to be hanging off the edge of the couch. Shiro groans, eyes drinking in the exposed flesh of Keith’s abdomen – his tank top had ridden up, revealing a flat stomach that glitters with sweat. Shiro holds him steady, while Keith continues to swirl his hips, until he pulls back up, a smile on his pink mouth. “No limits,” Keith utters, hands on Shiro’s knees. “You can do whatever the fuck you want with me.”

Keith’s eyes watch intently when Shiro licks his lips. All Keith can think is about licking them himself. He’s not sure what it is, really. Maybe it’s the faint hardness between his thighs, or the tight twist of his chest, or the animalistic need to _fuck_ – but he leans forward, brave and unabashed, hands pressing into the couch behind Shiro. His lips hover over Shiro’s, feeling the heat of their breaths mingling, and the scribe of his lust. He tilts his head, nose bumping with Shiro’s, as if they’re already making out – violet eyes lidded and focused on Shiro’s.

Then, he parts his mouth, tongue peeking out and dragging along the line of Shiro’s mouth.

He shudders violently, knuckles gripping tight to the couch, lashes fluttering helplessly. Shiro tastes so fucking good. Like a rich sweet – something so sinful it doesn’t even seem real. Shiro releases a sigh, tugging Keith’s hips closer, craving the feel of Keith’s slick tongue. So Keith licks. Again, and again, shutting his eyes and moaning suggestively when Shiro parts his lips, granting Keith access into the delicious cavern of his mouth.

He licks over gums and teeth, over another tongue – then takes it into his mouth and sucks, moan sounding muffled. His hips are rolling again, desperately, stomach lurching within his body in excitement, heart fluttering in his chest – because holy shit. This is actually happening. He’s sucking Shiro’s tongue. His breath falls out of his nose in a desperate push, his hands cupping the sides of Shiro’s face, sucking eagerly onto that fucking tongue – moaning like he’s already being fucked. Moaning like he’s cumming.

Shiro finally groans, dusky brows pinched together. Keith already feels like he’s full – but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay like this forever.

Eventually, Shiro tugs at his hips, and Keith has to pull away, breathing heavily – a trail of spit connecting them still. Keith’s in a daze, the images of Shiro’s tongue between his legs, over his neck – over his nipples and belly. He shudders again, black nails digging crescents underneath Shiro’s suit, eyes rolling back. His vivid imagination is going to be the death of him. “I was right,” Shiro says, biting his lip. Keith opens his eyes, looking at his meal, looking at his fucking ruination. “You’re an amazing dancer.”

Keith trembles, and he mewls – a low, soft thing. If Shiro keeps up like this – Keith might actually fuck him. Right now. Some part of him actually likes the thought of everyone watching while he claims what’s his, cumming all over Shiro’s dick. Keith groans. He feels as if the hunter’s become the hunted – and it’s a complicated feeling. He likes it, because he’s a perverse sex demon, but he also hates it – because he’s vulnerable. Needy. If Shiro left right now, Keith might actually die. He presses his nose to the crook of Shiro’s neck, shuddering violently and breathing in his scent, tail curling in ecstasy. “I want you to fuck me against the wall,” Keith whispers, eyelashes fluttering with his fantasy. He can feel Shiro’s arms around him, hefting his pale, endless legs up, slamming his hips in a delicious drag of friction that’s driving Keith insane. Keith would scrabble at the wall for purchase, moaning helplessly against the onslaught – and cum untouched, moaning like the slut he is.

He growls low in his throat, hand curling into the back of Shiro’s hair, tugging his head to the side. Shiro releases a puff of breath, hands still fierce and tight on Keith’s hips, as if he’s holding on for dear life. Keith’s hot mouth travels up Shiro’s neck, leaving wet, warm kisses, and pinches the skin there between his teeth – leaving hickeys and kiss-marks. Some part of Keith’s lizard-brain likes that and wishes they’d never be wiped or scrubbed away. He breathes out a sigh, tongue traveling upwards, mouth agape as he licks a long, slow stripe up the side of Shiro’s neck.

Shiro shudders, eyes shutting against the neediness of Keith’s mouth. Keith nears Shiro’s ear, and he hesitates for just a moment, hot breath rolling over his skin like the waves of an ocean.

Keith spots that stupid earring.

He wraps his teeth around Shiro’s earlobe, biting gently and tugging – and Shiro groans, intense and dark. Keith gets off on it. The earring clacks between Keith’s teeth, but it’s good, and he smooths his tongue over it, licking until he _sucks_. “I have muscles you don’t even know about,” Keith whispers, grinding his hips down in another spark of friction, this time quick and teasing. He makes sure to keep it light – because the slight movement alone makes stars dot his eyelids as he shuts them. “I could ride you and _squeeze_ you until you _pop_ ,” His lips trace the shell of Shiro’s ear, teeth dangerous and sharp, breath hot. “I could fuck you until your screaming my name,” Shiro’s hands finally do slide up Keith’s tank top, and his stomach drops with his heat, tail lashing wildly in the air. “And then when I’m done, you’ll beg me to hurt you just a _little more_.”

Shiro growls.

Actually _growls_.

Keith shudders from head to toe, feeling rough hands grip at the pale skin of his hips, of his waist and ribs. Holy fuck. It’s almost too much. Keith’s two breaths away from cumming in his goddamn pants. “Could you now?” Shiro asks, voice so fucking dark against Keith’s neck. Keith only nods – and his tongue dips into Shiro’s ear. He can feel how Shiro squirms against it, and the prospect of Shiro squirming while he’s buried eight inches deep inside Keith is intoxicating. “Maybe I should bend you over,” Shiro quips back, teeth grazing over Keith’s jugular in a surge of dominance. It makes Keith moan. “Whip you until you cry –”

Oh, yes.

 _Yes_.

“Then fuck you so hard the bed breaks. I think you could handle that – couldn’t you, sweetheart?”

Keith’s eyes threaten to roll back, whining low in his throat at the mere thought. He’s imagined it before, but somehow, when it comes out of Shiro’s mouth – in that low, silky voice, Keith loves it that much more. “Yes, _sir_.” He promises.

Shiro’s response is a heavy groan. It makes Keith’s tail whip against his own back, constantly flicking with eagerness. His breath falls on Shiro’s ear, his face – and soon, his mouth, where he kisses with a feverish need, finally letting himself be consumed with his desire – sealing his fate against the seam of Shiro’s lips. Shiro tastes even better like this, Keith thinks, with their lips gliding against each other like a waltz, a dance different than the grind of Keith’s pelvis. His tongue slides in easily, tasting everything he can, until Shiro dominates him with ease. It’s too easy, Keith muses, to give in. Shiro’s flesh hand curls a fist into Keith’s hair, tugging and pulling him into submission – which Keith easily gives, mewling high in the back of his throat. His other hand rests on Keith’s waist, metallic and heavy, gripping and kneading. Keith’s own palms are still on Shiro’s front, one wrapped around dark tresses of hair, the other on his chest.

Keith moans into Shiro’s mouth, consumed entirely by the heat underneath his skin, sweltering and endless. “Take me home,” Keith breathes, teeth flirting with Shiro’s upper lip. “Call a cab,” Kiss, “Fuck me in it,” Kiss, “Then fuck me again in your bed.”

Shiro makes a strangled noise, kissing fervently, not wanting to stop. “Okay,” He says, lost. He’s lost in the sea of his want. Lost in the fiery tendrils of Keith’s magic. “Yes,” He whispers – because he knows. He knows that he’s lost, and he doesn’t want to be found. “ _Yes_.”

Keith’s fingers scratch at Shiro’s scalp, all want and raw need, his ruby tinted lips slowing their fervent kissing. Shiro releases his grip on Keith’s hair, pulling away just enough to press their foreheads together, eyes shut and heaving for breath. Keith’s frowning, heart pounding like a jack-hammer in his chest. Fuck. This is the most intense thing he’s done in a long, long time – and the realization of that weighs heavily between his legs. He grins, though it’s a bit shaky, and he opens his eyes, caught in the intense flicker of brown in front of him. “Let’s go then,” He says, pushing Shiro back. He lands on the couch with a huff, face pink and… Keith licks his lips, tasting the remains of Shiro.

He stands up quickly, putting on his jacket – because if he stays perched in Shiro’s lap any longer they’ll never leave. He mourns the warmth of Shiro’s skin, though. He looks down at Shiro, who’s staring up at him with curious, heated eyes – and offers his hand. Shiro smiles. It’s a bit disarming, considering they were just practically fucking on the couch – but he takes the warm palm offered to him with his metal hand. Keith doesn’t flinch.

“You’re a bit bossy.”

Keith turns, waits for the rope to be parted, before tugging Shiro along, passing by strobing lights of purple and green and blue. “You have no idea,” He utters, heat in his throat. The trek outside becomes a sort of blur, because Shiro’s hand is so fucking warm in his own, and when they leave – the cold winter air of the city strikes Keith’s face like a whip. It cools him down, staving off the fire in his gut for the time being. He’s glad to have worn a jacket when Shiro takes the lead, hailing a cab – never in shortage around clubs like these – and holds the door open for Keith.

Keith watches him while he walks forward, black hair bouncing with every step – and he smirks, sliding into the cab, vibrating with excitement. Shiro joins him shortly after, spouting off directions to the driver, though he can’t get out much because Keith is being very distracting. He’s tugging at the tie around his throat, pulling him close enough to smell, nibbling on the other side of that gorgeous neck.

Keith feels hungry again.

The cab driver grumbles angrily, but the privacy screen rises upwards – leaving Keith free to do what he wants with Shiro’s gorgeous skin. He’s getting lost in that familiar haze of heat again in the warm cab, filled with the scent of sex and Shiro’s cologne, filled with the suckling noises parting from Keith’s mouth. Shiro lowers his weight onto Keith, forcing his back flush to the leather seats, and their lips meet while Keith wraps one of his legs around Shiro’s waist.

Oh, God. That feels so right – so good and perfect. Keith moans, his hands curling into fists into Shiro’s stupid button-down, tail writhing and twisting over itself. He’s covered in Shiro’s heat, in his scent and his strength, and Keith begins to black out – because it’s so fucking good. He mewls into Shiro’s mouth, past the barrier of his lips, and inhales sharply through his nose when Shiro grinds, pelvis meeting the aching need between Keith’s endless legs.

His tail thwaps loudly against the window.

Shiro pauses, raising his head from Keith’s face, one hand braced on the back of the seat, the other pressed next to Keith’s waist. “What was that?”

Keith moans desperately, tugging at Shiro’s face because they need to be kissing. Now. Or Keith will die. Melt into a pretty puddle in the car. Shiro frowns, shaking his head and pushing downwards again with a squeak of leather, and Keith moans – because yes. Yes. This is what he wants. Shiro on top of him, Shiro kissing him, Shiro pushing him down into the fucking seats and taking what he wants.

Keith’s tongue slides into Shiro’s mouth just as his tail hits the door again.

This time, Shiro halts entirely, looking at the window with narrowed eyes, watching as the city whizzes by. “Is somebody throwing rocks at us?”

Keith heaves a great sigh, hands wandering eagerly all over Shiro’s front. “It’s my tail.”  

Shiro stares at him, white hair hanging over his eyes, skin slightly flushed with sweat. Keith bites his lip. God, he just wants to – “Really now?” He snorts.

Keith glares up at Shiro, arousal twinged with a slight hint of irritation. He narrows his violet eyes, falling slump onto the seat with another sigh. “Yeah, really,” He deadpans. Shiro doesn’t believe him. So, Keith shuts his eyes for a moment, focusing on the glamour that obscures his additional extremities from the eyes of mortals. His horns thrum, his tail begins to curl, and Keith hums a pleased sound, feeling as if a thick blanket was torn from his body the instant his glamour fades. When he opens his eyes, he spots the blank expression on Shiro’s face, the sudden stiffness of his body. “Sex demon,” Keith teases.

Shiro’s eyes are wide.

Keith sighs deeply, lifting his left hand, shivering with gold – and strokes Shiro’s cheek, thumb smoothing into the height of his bone. Shiro stares at Keith, tension fleeing from his body at once, his gaze soft and full of admiration. Adoration. Love. It’s false, though – Keith doesn’t like using his magic on Shiro. It settles in his gut in all the wrong ways, but it’s harmless. He knows that. He also knows that Shiro wants to put his dick in Keith just as much as Keith does – this is just something to make him… accepting of Keith’s nature.

It doesn’t matter, really, because, in the morning, Shiro might forget this even happened.

Shiro makes a soft sound, eyes lidding. “You don’t mind, right?” Keith whispers, and Shiro presses closer, lessening the distance between their chests.

Shiro hums low in his throat. “No,” He answers, breathing softly when Keith’s hand trails down to the collar of his suit, wishing they were naked. “Your horns are so pretty,” He whispers – half in awe, half in shock. They curl out from the mop of onyx on Keith’s head, the design akin to a ram’s horns. They’re glowing, illuminating the darkness of the cab with a faint violet hum, mirroring the deep hue of Keith’s eyes. His tail surges forward slowly, the pointed tip tickling the end of Shiro’s chin, and he smiles at the contact.

“Thank you,” Keith replies, fingers busying themselves with loosening that damn tie. “You gonna kiss me now?”

Shiro leans in closer, and Keith’s heart sings for joy – until two raps on the privacy screen makes his head whip over. The cab driver is staring at them, and thankfully, Keith managed to snap on his glamour before anything… ugly happened. Keith bites his lip when Shiro parts from him, because _no_. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t like that. Shiro digs in his suit pocket for his wallet, grumbling under his breath while he fishes for a fifty – then hands it to the cab driver for his… troubles.

“I didn’t get to fuck you in the cab,” Shiro whispers, sounding a bit sad, and it makes Keith laugh from the belly.

“Next time?” He says, leg unfurling from Shiro’s waist, feeling like lead on the floorboard. Shiro slides out the cab, offering his flesh hand, and Keith takes it, a grin playing at his lips while the air of winter is kissing his skin again. “You’ll just have to fuck me twice in your bed, then. What’d you say? Until it breaks?”

Shiro grins wide – the sight makes Keith’s stomach flip. “Yeah.” He shuts the cab door behind them, wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulder. Oh. That’s nice. Keith’s heart does this weird fluttering thing in his chest – but he doesn’t pay much attention to it as his neck cranes up, staring at the sky-scraping building Shiro assumedly lives in.

Keith can’t help but whistle at the sheer size of it, twinkling like a supernova. “Large and in charge,” He utters, violet eyes on Shiro now. He looks smug.

“Worked hard for it.” Shiro looks beautiful underneath the city lights.

Keith thinks that might be a little too… intimate for his liking, despite just an elevator away from riding Shiro’s brains out, so he shoves that thought into a box and shoves it into a dusty corner of his mind.

Keith smirks, canines showing. “Let’s go break your bed, daddy.” He teases, reveling in the way Shiro’s smug expression falls into something much darker. Keith is close enough to lick Shiro’s mouth – so he does, standing on his toes and giving a short, small swipe of his tongue across Shiro’s plump lips. “I’ll have you know I’m a good dancer in bed, too.”

Shiro’s metal hand tightens on Keith’s shoulder. “I don’t doubt it,” He adjusts his tie with his other hand, and then he’s leading Keith inside the building. The excitement from before has died down, yes, but it’s beginning to creep back, wrapping its electric tendrils around the base of Keith’s spine. His hand reaches up, lacing with Shiro’s strewn over his shoulder, and holds his breath as they ditch the front desk, heading straight for the elevator.

Inside, Shiro parts momentarily to flash the scanner on the side his ID – and the elevator chimes, shutting and moving upwards. Keith walks to the edge, watching the floor begin to grow distant, until he sees nothing but a wall, humming in thought. Shiro has money. The elevator keeps going up until around floor 50, and the doors part to reveal a very stylish and expensive penthouse.

There’s floor to ceiling windows, and Keith stares out at the city, suddenly feeling very… old. And small. He takes off his jacket, the lamps by the curved black couches flickering on when Shiro taps the light-switch, and he tosses the fabric onto one of them, walking to the windows and peering outwards. He looks around, too, taking note of his surroundings – there’s a grand piano for Christ’s sake. A spiral staircase leading to a landing with walls of glass, undoubtedly leading deeper into the building to bedrooms and bathrooms. Shiro steps by his side, and Keith doesn’t look up, opting to stare out to the vastness of the city. “Amazing, isn’t it?” He asks.

Keith glances at Shiro. At his handsome face. At his warm eyes.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Amazing.”

Shiro grins, sliding his suit jacket away from his broad frame. “Are you hungry or thirsty? I can make you something –”

Keith presses a finger to Shiro’s lips, violet eyes thrumming with an unspoken softness. His hunger has returned, but it’s different than before. He feels it in his heart, a deepness that he knows he won’t be able to fill with ease. He feels pain flickering behind his eyelids when he gazes at Shiro’s face, but he doesn’t want to feel that. He wants to feel Shiro underneath him, writhing and gasping and saying his name – because that’s all Keith is good for. It’s all Shiro would want. Somehow, Keith knows that. He feels it in his bones. “Take me to bed,” Keith says, voice full with his ardor, his need. He hopes Shiro will get the message – because he doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want anything other than to fuck Shiro senseless.

Except he does.

Shiro’s brows pinch together, but he nods, taking Keith by the hand. “Come with me?”

Keith releases a breath he doesn’t know he was holding. “Yes,” He whispers. Shiro turns, and Keith is greeted with a show of Shiro’s back, flexing and moving with untapped power as he guides Keith through his penthouse. They move for the spiral staircase, and Shiro tosses Keith a heart-warming glance, before leading him up the stairs.

By the top, Keith is on Shiro in an instant, crashing against him with a soft growl and sealing their lips together. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He wants this – he wants Shiro’s hands on him, touching him all over, finding all the secrets buried underneath his flesh. He kisses Shiro like he’s a dying man, hands in his hair, body on his.

Shiro, trying to walk backward with Keith on him, eventually gets fed up – bending down to scoop Keith in his arms by hooking his large hands under his knees. Keith gasps, his hands on Shiro’s shoulders, feeling the sensation hefted up with such _ease_ – yeah, he’s hungry now. There’s a moment where they just look at each other, a soft shared moment – before Keith’s ravenous mouth is back on Shiro’s mouth with a moan, hands scrabbling at that muscled back for purchase. Shiro turns them around, and Keith’s body jostles with every step, doing nothing but feeding the fire in his belly – rolling into his throat and pushing sparks from between his teeth.

Keith’s back hits something with a thud – a door – and Keith presses forward, craving skin on skin contact, craving the heated flesh Shiro wears. He uses the door to hold most of Keith’s weight, one hand groping blindly for the doorknob. Keith distracts him by tugging on his earring with enamel again, eliciting a hiss of breath and a shudder while his hand searches for the doorknob – how hard can it be? Keith’s tongue pushes into Shiro’s ear again just as the door swings open with a loud bang, throwing Shiro off balance and sending them stumbling to the bed.

Keith’s eyes fly open, and luckily, he drops his legs from Shiro’s waist to brace his weight before they fall on the floor, hands locked tight into his shirt. They freeze for a moment, silent and heaving for breath – before Keith laughs and starts kissing him all over again. Shiro’s hands are free to roam now as the back of Keith’s knees hit the bed, tugging his tank top off with a frustrated grunt. Keith parts the kiss momentarily, letting the scrap of fabric be torn off his lithe frame, then he falls back willingly onto the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows while Shiro looms over him.

There are windows in the bedroom, too, and through them, the lights of the city flood inwards – painting Shiro’s form in dazzling hues of orange and white and green. Shiro breathes deep, brown eyes intense on Keith’s form, like fire and ice, thunder and lightning. Keith watches with bated breath as Shiro loosens his tie, sliding it off with a dominant grace that sends a fit of shivers down Keith’s spine.

Then, Shiro’s hands go to his belt.

Keith’s eyes widen while Shiro unbuckles it with a jangle of metal – the sound is painfully loud in his ears, in the empty room – and he slides the leather off his hips, letting it dangle before folding it, holding it firmly within his flesh hand. All the while, Shiro doesn’t take those fucking eyes off of Keith for a second.

Ok. That was hot.

Keith gulps, violet eyes back on Shiro’s, who’s staring at him with intent. “Pants. Off.”

Keith’s entire form trembles as he works at his shoes, then his leather pants, squeezing out of them with only a mild frustration – and revels in the way Shiro groans. That’s right. Keith never wears underwear. “Like what you see?” He asks, voice breathy and husky. Shiro’s gaze focuses on the strip of black around Keith’s neck, his choker seeming to sparkle against the paleness of his skin. So Keith leans back, arms above his head, stretching out his body in a singular, sinuous line, glimmering gold under the city lights. “Watcha gonna do to me?”

Shiro frowns deeply, seeming to hold onto his last strand of self-control like a life-line. “You don’t remember?” He holds the belt up, and Keith tracks the movement, much like a cat would a toy. “I’m going to whip you until you cry.”

Keith bites his lip. “Yeah, daddy? You think you can make me cry?”

Shiro growls. “I know I can. You want to bend over my lap and find out?”

And in an instant, Shiro has ditched all attempts of softness. The man he was before, offering Keith food and drink, offering the warmth of his hand is long gone – and in his absence lies an apex predator. His teeth shine in the darkness, and Keith’s dick twitches with his violent hunger, nodding his dark head. “Please, daddy.” Shiro sits, gesturing for Keith to crawl over – and crawl he does.

He shifts onto his hands and knees, before sprawling himself lazily on his stomach over Shiro’s legs as if he has all the time in the world – releasing a content mewl. Shiro watches him with a trained eye, flesh hand holding the belt, the metal one smoothing up and down Keith’s back. His form shakes with excitement, tail flicking – oh, right. The glamor. He shivers a bit, shutting his eyes and biting his lip as his most sensitive areas come into view. Shiro takes advantage of it, curling his metal hand around Keith’s tail, eliciting a choked moan. He rubs the leather of the belt over Keith’s ass, slow and comforting, and he shudders at the sensation – the ridged texture doing _things_ to his nerves.

“Safe word?” Shiro asks.

Keith bites his lip. “Don’t need it. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Shiro eyes him warily. “Red for stop, yellow for slow,” He says. Keith’s heart flutters again. Why was Shiro so damn worried about him? He’s bent over Shiro’s lap, ass fully on display, and yet he… treats Keith with kindness. Softness. It’s stupid. Keith frowns in frustration, pushing his hips against the leather belt, wanting to feel its cruel bite instead of the warmth blossoming in his chest. “What do you want?” Shiro asks.

Keith sighs a soft breath, something sexy and lost. “Spank me, _daddy_ ,” He says, hearing the sharp inhale Shiro makes. Keith only wiggles his hips against the leather, breathing softly. “If you make it good I’ll ride you.”

Shiro chuckles – the sound is comforting, low and pleasing, and Keith feels frustration in the back of his throat. _Just hit me, damnit._ “I want you to count, baby. Can you do that for me?” Keith nods eagerly.

“Yes.”

He feels the leather across his skin, cold and hard – but Keith makes a small sound all the same. His stomach flips, brows pinching together in concentration, focusing on the simple drag of the belt on his sensitive skin. Shiro hums low in his throat, metal hand curling into Keith’s hair – tugging hard enough to prove a point, provoking a dull ache in his skull. Keith releases a quiet moan, and Shiro had done the hair pulling thing to distract from the movement of him raising the belt. Keith can hear it before it strikes – the whistle in the air, the inhalation of breath, and then the dazzling spark of sheer heat that rolls over his skin.

The cruel bite of leather leaves nothing more than a tingling sensation – something intense and overwhelming curling around his chest and throbbing in his legs. His toes curl. “Yes, what?” Shiro asks, the leather back to rubbing, teasing and smug. Keith’s eyes flutter shut, sighing shakily, body rigid and tight – because _fuck_.

The tension is so thick. He could run his hand through it. Feel the heat of it kiss his fingertips. “Yes, sir,” He says, hands helplessly curling into the sheets. He’s completely exposed – completely at the mercy of another. The sheer intimacy of the situation leaves Keith reeling – the vulnerability that comes with this entire situation is almost enough to send Keith running away screaming.

Keith _never_ backs down from a challenge.

“Start from one,” Shiro affirms. Then, the whistling is the air is back, and Keith feels another lash of heat on his skin, another surge of feeling in his chest. Keith takes a deep breath, bracing himself against the mattress, brows pinched together. His dick presses into Shiro’s lap, and he can feel the tented arousal of Shiro’s pants – something that makes him sing with pride.

“One,” He sighs, voice deep. The belt is rubbing again, followed by a deep, low groan from Shiro. Keith shudders from head to toe, tail quivering in the warm air. Shiro’s hand flees from Keith’s hair, opting to grab the wriggling appendage instead, keeping it away so he can raise the belt again.

Another hit sends Keith reeling, breath pushing out in a desperate puff of air. “Two,” He mewls, emotions gripping tight in his belly. His dick grinds against the silk fabric clinging to Shiro’s legs, undoubtedly leaving wet patches that would be a bitch to scrub out later – and he can hear every breath he takes. Shiro’s slowly losing control. With every strike, every moan Keith releases after being hit – something so unbeliavably slutty and wrong – and every new line marring Keith’s perfect ass.

The belt strikes again, like a lethal snake, spreading its venom into the farthest reaches of Keith’s heart. Saliva pools in his mouth as the sound of slapping skin resounds in the air, and he feels a sort of haze encompass his senses. He can feel the emotion in his fingertips, the intensity of it swirling and churning.

His eyes are burning.

“Three,” Keith gasps, because Shiro’s growing eager. The belt comes down, harder than before, and Keith moans, loud and unashamed, seeking purchase against the soft cotton of Shiro’s sheets. “Four!”

Shiro sighs shakily, his self-control easing away. “You’re taking it so well, sweetheart,” He coos – a praising sound that makes Keith’s heart swell. Why? Why was this affecting him so strongly? Shiro’s bringing the belt down faster now, again and again, eliciting a jolt and a flare of heat to blossom in Keith’s gut. The numbers that part his lips are beginning to feel fuzzy on his tongue, a tightness in his throat and chest that swallows his resolve whole. He can’t focus on anything – he thinks he’s on six, but he’s on seven, so when he utters the word Shiro whips him harder than ever before – and Keith yowls, toes curling.

 _Oh, my God._ Keith breathes heavily, vision blurring at the edges. “That’s five more strikes. You’re on seven, baby. You can do it – breathe.”

Keith tries to, choking on an inhale and sighing shakily. Shiro’s hand on his tail is comforting, warm and familiar, and it distracts him momentarily from the burn in his chest, the throbbing in his stomach and legs. “Seven,” Keith says, once he’s sure his voice won’t crack. It wavers still, held captive by the clutches of Shiro’s hands. “Keep going,” He mewls – Shiro releases a strangled noise and raises the belt again.

 _Eight_.

Keith can feel the emotion in his chest blossom outwards, like a purple flower, warm and calm and overwhelming at the same time – he curls inwards to it, curls away from it, breathes it into his aching lungs.

 _Nine_.

Keith moans.

 _Ten_.

There’s a spill of warmth over his cheeks, fleeing from the violet of his eyes, fleeing from the will of his heart. Shiro hums in approval, bringing the belt down again and again in a flurry of compassion. Of lust and desire and heat.

 _Fifteen_.

Keith’s sobbing, hiccuping on his choked breaths and trembling from head to toe, arousal and emotion mixing together in a swirl of something confusing and… _scary_. Shiro drops the belt, hefting Keith’s shaking form into the warmth of his arms, into the security of skin and flesh. He presses a kiss to Keith’s sweaty forehead, smoothing his hair away – and Keith aches. He aches for this. He aches for Shiro.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks, clutching Keith to his broad frame tightly, but gently – as if Keith’s a fragile piece of glass. Keith breathes shakily, trying to calm the tide of emotions in his gut, trying to quell the screaming in his head. He rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder, focusing on simply breathing.

Keith breathes until the screaming in his head turns into nothing but a faint white noise – buzzing between his ears. His skin itches. “You made me cry,” Keith says, hoarse.

Shiro smiles. It’s soft. “I did.”

Keith looks up at him for a long, vulnerable moment – before sealing their lips together. The heat from before is nothing more than a spark, and Keith takes his time with his kisses unlike before. He kisses Shiro deep and slow, sighing wantonly and tilting his head to slot their mouths perfectly – a slide of friction that makes Keith’s head spin all over again. He’s perched in Shiro’s lap like before.

Nothing could feel more right.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Shiro murmurs, voice deep.

Keith licks at his lips, tasting the remains of Shiro’s spit. “I did. That was…” Keith trails off, tail flicking in interest. “ _Amazing_.”

Much like the view of the city. The view of Shiro’s face.

He smiles, all handsome dimples and curves, and Keith suddenly realizes that Shiro’s very overdressed. “How about I repay the favor?” He whispers against the line of Shiro’s lips, violet eyes flickering from lips to brown, mouth parted. “I keep my promises.”

Shiro shifts, hands wrapped around Keith’s form, still wracked with the occasional shudder. His eyes are dark. Keith wishes he knew what was going on through Shiro’s mind. “Will you let me prepare you?”

Keith stifles the urge to snort, violet eyes flickering between Shiro’s. “I don’t need it –” He starts, “But if you want your fingers up my ass I won’t say no.” Because really – how could he say no? Especially with Shiro looking so soft, so eager to please and bring Keith to new heights. “If,” He says, finger tapping on Shiro’s lower lip, arm wrapped around his neck. “You take off your clothes.”

Shiro nods. “Go get comfortable, then.”

Keith presses one last kiss to Shiro’s lips, humming low in his throat. He’s so fucking hot. Keith slides from Shiro’s lap, mulling over the dull ache in his lower back – it would be gone in the morning like nothing ever happened. Like he wasn’t just beat in the best way possible. Somehow – he feels a little sad. He wishes he didn’t heal so quickly, just so he can feel Shiro’s influence on him everytime he moves. He crawls up to the headboard, making quite a show of wiggling his hips, and he can feel Shiro’s eyes glare into his flesh, seeping inwards and making his tail curve. He can hear Shiro take off his shirt, then the jangle of his buckle on his pants, the clatter of shoes scattered somewhere. Keith sets his hips up on a pillow, relaxing with a content sigh, shutting his eyes.

He could fall asleep if it wasn’t for Shiro rummaging through his bedside drawer, grabbing what looked like a condom and some lube. Keith sucks his teeth. No. That wouldn’t do at all. He wants to feel Shiro’s cum inside of him, filling him to the brim and making him feel warm. “No condom. I’m clean.”

Shiro eyes him a bit warily – but releases a frustrated sounding sigh and ditches the condom. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Keith grins, mattress shifting with Shiro’s weight. “Come and finger me.” Shiro makes a sound, settling between Keith’s spread thighs. This way, Keith can look over his shoulder and see the fucking monster dick hanging from Shiro’s pelvis – hard and heady, glistening with precum. It makes his mouth water. Shiro catches him staring and slaps his ass a bit – not too hard, but the sting is appreciated with a smug mewl.

The lube is popped open and Keith holds his breath in anticipation, watching as a glistening clear fluid is spread over Shiro’s fingers. He hums, warming up the substance before his attention is focused on Keith’s hole – spreading his cheeks with ease and watching how it flutters and winks in anticipation. Shiro can only imagine how tight he is. “You’re pretty down here, too.”

For the first time that night, Keith flushes, turning his eyes away to focus on the headboard. A surge of embarrassment floods his system – but he lifts his hips into Shiro’s hand in response, listening to how Shiro’s breath starts to grow uneven. “Get on with it,” Keith grits out, because somehow, feeling embarrassed is much worse than the affection in his heart. He feels irritated. Shiro chuckles, low and deep, and presses one of his warm, slick fingers to Keith’s entrance.

Keith arches in response, moving back against it – and he revels in the desperate groan Shiro makes when his ass practically swallows Shiro’s finger up. “You weren’t kidding,” Shiro says, pushing it inwards, all the way down to his knuckle. Keith bites his lip, sparks igniting all over his spine from finally being filled. It’s not enough. Keith wiggles his hips to try and let Shiro know that – and another finger slips in. It’s a solid comforting weight in the channels of his body, and Keith relaxes, letting his head fall flush to the mattress while he fucks backward, breathing hotly. “I bet I could just put my dick in you now and you’d be fine with it.”

Keith grins shakily. “Yeah. That’s kind of one of the perks of being a sex demon from hell.”

Shiro laughs. Is it normal to laugh so much during sex? Keith bites his lip, trying to focus on the sparks of pleasure in his ass. A third finger slips in with ease, and Keith holds his breath, toes curling. Shiro rubs soothing circles into his lower back on instinct, metallic fingers feeling warm. “Will you help me?” Shiro asks, fingers crooking downwards, searching for something.

Keith inhales sharply. He wants to, God, he wants to – but the vulnerability that comes with it might be too much to handle. He can already feel his eyes watering. “Yeah,” He answers, breathy and lost. Shiro hums in response, and Keith feels the urge to look over, to see Shiro’s face – but he stifles it, focusing on the fingers inside of him. Shiro thrusts his hand, just grazing over Keith’s prostate, and he releases an annoyed huff before raising his hips slightly. “To the right,” He breathes. Shiro moves to the right, thrusting downwards in a long, torturous grind – and Keith moans. “Right there.”

Once Shiro found it, it was over.

He starts out slow, of course, warming Keith’s insides and sending his dick in a twitching frenzy with every thrust – but then he goes faster. And faster. And Keith starts to see stars, his voice parting his lips shamelessly, his nails elongating and biting into the mattress. “Like that,” Keith breathes, shoulderblades flexing. Shiro leans forward, teeth marking one of Keith’s cheeks, pale and pretty – and Keith convulses, releasing a punched moan. “Oh shit –”

“You’re so gorgeous, Keith,” Shiro says, and that damned flush of embarrassment is back. Keith frowns deeply, growling and pushing back against his fingers. “Taking me so well. You’re perfect, you know? I’ve never met someone who can keep up with me like this –”

And those fingers curl, eliciting a yelp. “I can’t wait for you to ride me.”

Keith finally looks back, violet eyes on fire in the dark. He looks at Shiro’s face, hovering inches above his red ass, painted with the expression of admiration – affection. “You think _you’re_ ready for _me_?” Keith asks, with a bit of a bite.

Shiro grins. “I’ve been ready.”

Keith tosses his head back with a moan when Shiro starts fucking him earnestly, spread out over his fingers – God. Shiro’s on fire. “Then get your fingers out of my ass and lay on your back,” Keith hisses through his teeth, tail flicking. Shiro hums, waiting a long moment before withdrawing his slick fingers, wiping them on the duvet. Keith sighs, shaking out his hair and shifting to his knees, adjusting the pillows all comfy for Shiro.

He smiles. Keith could be sweet, too, it seems.

Keith sits on his haunches, watching Shiro intently as he shifts onto his back, melting into the pillows. As quick as lightning, Keith is straddling him, warm hands on his chest. Keith licks his lips, looking down at Shiro with his hungry violet eyes, tail flicking languid and slow. “I’m gonna ride your brains out.”

Shiro nods, putting his hands behind his head in a movement of nonchalance – it makes Keith’s eyes narrow. Shiro looks good underneath Keith, though. Keith takes a moment to admire the view before shifting back, the cleft of his ass dragging across Shiro’s thick cock – and Shiro’s jaw drops slightly with a puff of air. Keith reaches back, sliding his palm across Shiro’s length, pressing it firmly into his ass – “That feel good?” He asks, rolling his hips.

Shiro nods, metal hand coming to grip Keith’s hip, warm and anchoring. So Keith sighs, rising higher onto his knees, pressing the tip of Shiro’s slick dick to his entrance. He feels it pulse underneath him and it provokes a delicious surge of heat in his belly – and he sinks downward. At first, Keith gasps, jaw falling open as he lowers himself, breath halting in his throat. Shiro looks the same, debauched and desperate, punching out a groan when Keith bottoms out – dark brows pinched together.

Keith never looks away from Shiro’s eyes. They’re locked together in a dance of heat, and as every inch gets buried inside of Keith, his hunger snaps. He waits for a moment, moaning low in his throat while he just feels. He lets himself grow used to Shiro inside of him, pulsing and throbbing with heat. He lets himself gaze at Shiro’s face and feel nothing but the want between his thighs, before rising on his knees, and sinking down once more with a soft sigh.

Shiro grips at his hip, breathing evenly, trying to regulate himself – and Keith starts rolling his pelvis. Slow and savory, reveling in every hot inch inside of him, every struggled breath that parts Shiro’s lips. This is what he wanted. This is what he needed. Keith moves his hands away from Shiro’s body, tips his head back – and begins to _bounce_.

The bed starts to creak.

The world turns on its axis in a dazzling whirl of heat.

Shiro’s dick goes deeper than anything Keith’s ever had – and he’s had some… specimens in his long life. Maybe it’s because it’s Shiro. Keith shuts his eyes, one of his hands cupping the metallic one gripping at his hip, and he moans towards the sky, seeing stars behind his eyelids. The thick length inside of him drags against his prostate with every thrust, and he can hear Shiro groan distantly – but he focuses on himself, focuses on bouncing hard enough to shake the entire bed, focuses on the blinding heat in his belly.

Both of Shiro’s hands are on him now, holding him steady while he fucks himself silly on Shiro’s dick. He drops his head, eyes glazed over with heat and sugar as he looks at Shiro’s face – contorted with pleasure, twisted with the heat of Keith’s lust. “Shit,” He groans, staring at the spot where his dick melts into Keith. “Holy shit.”

Keith growls, falling harder, falling faster. “You like that?” He hisses, skin slapping against skin. “You’re so fucking big –” He babbles, breathing heavy and hot. He moans, helpless to the tide that overwhelms him, helpless to the feeling of Shiro inside of him. “Oh my fucking god,” He slurs, slamming his hips downward.

Shiro moans.

Oh, _God_. It was better than Keith could’ve ever imagined. His thighs begin to shake with his exertion, stomach burning with exhaustion, but he doesn’t dare to stop the rough rhythm he’s set up. If anything, he breathes through it, pushes through it with another rush of speed. “Baby,” Shiro moans, eyes rolling back. _Yes_. Keith’s wanted to see this expression since he first laid eyes on Shiro. Eyes rolled back, jaw clenched, nostrils flared – hands gripping bruises into Keith’s waist. “You’re so goddamn _tight_ –”

Keith moans with abandon, leaning forward and setting his palms on Shiro’s chest, black nails long and raking streaks of red on his dusty skin. Shiro shudders, jaw dropping in another shaky moan – and Keith rides him harder. Faster. _More_.

Keith feels his orgasm creeping up on him – he’s going to cum untouched. The thought makes him mewl helplessly, sweat dripping from his face as he picks up his pace, bouncing on Shiro’s dick until the bed is _shifting,_ scraping across the wooden floor. “I’m gonna cum,” Keith whines, voice dropping into bouncing hiccups when Shiro lifts his own hips, gripping at Keith’s waist and fucking into him with heaving breaths.

Keith digs his nails into Shiro’s chest, lips parted in a pretty ‘o’ while he gets fucked into. Shiro’s a goddamn powerhouse. His muscles ripple, sweaty pelvis slapping against Keith’s ass, and Keith loses his mind. He moans, over and over, pushing back mindlessly in an un-coordinated scramble of heat, but Shiro’s dick pounds into his prostate, and he can’t think anymore. His brain goes completely white as he reaches his peak, clenching tight around Shiro’s dick and screaming to the heavens – screaming as euphoria rushes over his entire body.

Shiro moans, too, long and drawn out, emptying himself into Keith with a string of curses. Keith trembles violently, tail lashing out as his arms go limp, collapsing on the sweaty expanse of Shiro’s torso, shaking and heaving as if he’s just run a marathon. Shiro holds him tight, hands gripping all over Keith’s back as he cums – still cumming – and then finally slumps with a strained groan, voice sounding wet.

Keith pants into Shiro’s neck, thighs quivering.

That was the most intense orgasm he’s ever had.

They lie like that for a while, with Shiro’s hands smoothing over Keith’s skin, his cock softening in Keith’s body. Keith hums in contentment, eyes shut, body still jolting every so often with the aftershocks of his climax. Shiro is half-awake.

Keith slides off with a gentle sigh, nose scrunching at the spill of cum that flees from his body. He pushes himself up on shaking arms, his hand cupping Shiro’s jaw, turning his face. “You good?” He asks, voice hoarse.

Shiro mumbles in response.

Keith grins. He’s successfully fucked Shiro into a zombie. He clambers off Shiro’s bed, searching for the button down on the black floors – and slides it over his body for mild coverage as he slinks into the adjacent bathroom. He grabs some towels, wets one with warm water, and cleans himself up over the rim of the sink. His brows pinch together – Shiro cums a lot. _A lot._

He finishes wiping himself down, before trotting back into the bedroom as if he hasn’t been completely rammed – and bounces on the mattress. Keith may be a sex demon, but he isn’t heartless. He could’ve left Shiro then and there. He sighs gently when he starts rubbing a damp cloth over Shiro’s chest, cleaning the seed that stains his skin. Shiro simply gazes up at him with warm eyes – warm like cocoa. Keith doesn’t want to look over. “Are you going to stay?” He asks.

Keith frowns.

He really shouldn’t. He should go back to his own apartment, curl up in bed, sated and full and sleepy. He licks his lips in thought, rubbing the fabric until Shiro’s skin glistens – and then some. “Do you want me to?” Keith asks.

This is purely for the hunt. Not because Keith’s heart swells in his chest. He needs to make his prey happy, give him what he wants so he tastes better. It’s not because Keith wants to stay. He tells himself that – and yet, his heart shakes in uncertainty. “I do,” Shiro replies.

Keith looks at him. And for a moment, he sees _Shiro_. Vulnerable. Small.

Keith takes off his shirt, throws it on the ground with the dirty cloth, and nods.

“Okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> is it really a philemal fic without spanking and a daddy kink? listen. i worked a couple of days on this, rewrote it like twice, and this is the BEAUTIFUL outcome. i was too excited to post to properly spell-check it, but if ya'll see something don't HESITATE to tell me i will kiss u. feel free to rant in the comments abt what you liked in this fic! i love interacting with you guys and I SWEAR i don't bite. if you wanna say hi, go ahead beetch ily. also! come talk to me on [tumblr](https://philemal.tumblr.com/) and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/philemal) i'm very lonely and gay!


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